Intern of the Viking Gods

By Steve Mackes

This summer, 12-year old Augie Rhone is working as a lowly intern. But instead of getting coffee for corporate executives, he's answering to a group far more cut-throat, petty and full of themselves, the Norse Gods.

At the end of 7th grade, after Augie has already been uprooted from friends, moved to a new school and bullied relentlessly, he and his parents get a visit from the Viking deities, Odin and Queen Frigg.

Augie learns that his mom and dad, Brunhilde and Siegfried, weren't always out-of-shape, working class embarrassments. Incarnations ago, they were powerful, mythic barbarians, the same legendary, pagan heroes the composer, Wagner would one day write operas about. There's just one thing: Siegfried and Brunhilde made a pact with the Gods and then failed to keep their end of the bargain. Now, eons later, Odin has come to collect. A sacrifice is due, and Augie is it.

Shipped off to Valhalla, the great Viking hall in the sky, he enters a summer internship, doing thankless, flunky chores like busing banquet tables, waiting on warriors and cleaning up the carnage from bloody battles. Augie is being tested, and how well he performs will decide his fate and that of his parents.

Rooting against him is arch-enemy classmate, Ira Dupre, who teams up with the shape-shifting Trickster God, Loki to ensure Augie's demise. Navigating betrayal, first love, black magic and eye-opening dimensions full of possibility, Augie makes difficult choices to prove his worth. But Godly expectations must ultimately be met. If not up to the job, Augie is getting axed in more ways than one.

Intern of the Viking Gods is the first volume in the Augie Rhone series of six books.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steve Mackes
• Release date: Jul 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301853878

Steve Mackes

Writing one thing or another—songs, lyrics, poetry, plays, screenplays, musicals, magazine articles, reviews, short stories and novels—is what I’ve been doing most of my life. Since getting out of college and landing a job in advertising, it’s been my meal ticket, leading to freelance and staff work as a copywriter, scriptwriter, speech writer, editor and creative director. I'm currently writing the 2nd book of the Augie Rhone/Intern of the Viking Gods series and editing an earlier sci-fi novel, Down to Earth, soon to be released.

Book preview

PART 1: AS FATE WOULD HAVE IT

CHAPTER 1 – TAKING A BEATING

Augie Rhone gasped, fighting for air, his head pounding much the way it did when he got up in the morning and faced going to a school he hated. Only now, the pounding was caused by Ira Dupre, a 7th grade classmate bully, banging his head against a locker, like a hammer to an anvil.

You like that, ugly face?

It was a question not seeking an answer, because the answer was assumed. A perfect example, Augie thought, even as his head was stinging and ringing, of a rhetorical question, discussed the other day in English class. The brain was strange in what it would latch onto at the weirdest times.

Did Ira, the head-slammer, know he was being rhetorical? Likely not. He seemed focused on just one thing, the same thing since Augie’s first day at Port Morris Middle School, putting a hurt on the new kid. But what was most disturbing, aside from the pain, was being called ‘ugly face’. Not that he oozed handsomeness, but Augie was reasonably sure he was a notch or two above ugly, maybe even cute to some. So his front teeth, which Ira Dupre would like to knock out, were slightly crooked, and he had a nickel-sized, heart-shaped, birthmark on the left side of his neck. Nobody was perfect.

The piercing shrill of a whistle filled the air. It came from science teacher and hallway guardian, Ms Bollie. Enough! she screeched, causing Ira to let go and assume his most innocent look. Augie rubbed the side of his head where a nice bump was swelling.

Ms Bollie grabbed Ira. It may be the last day of school, but you can still get detenion, Mr. Dupre. She glanced at the crowd of students that had gathered to witness the assault. Show’s over; Move along! she declared, watching them disperse before turning to Augie.

He started it, accused Ira, playing the victim. He was saying stuff about my mother.

Didn’t know you had one.

See? See what he does, Ms Bollie? I didn’t do a thing.

You don’t have to, returned Augie. Just your presence makes me sick.

Stop! You two, always fighting. Why can’t you get along?

Augie looked at Ira, wondering that, too. In those black, smoldering eyes, all he saw coming back was fire and contempt.

He thinks he’s better. Cause he lived in New York City. Nobody likes him.

Augie looked down and shrugged. Ms Bollie wagged a finger at Ira. That is uncalled for. Apologize.

Yes, Ms Bollie, said Ira in his most contrite voice. I’m sorry.

Right, said Augie with obvious sarcasm, drawing an evil glare from Ira.

It escaped the teacher who took a moment to study Augie, touching his head, moving a finger to see if his eyes followed. Your eyes, I’ve noticed, change colors.

They’re hazel. They reflect color, so it seems like they change.

Ms Bollie looked a little unsure. Do you need to see the nurse?

Augie pulled away. I’m all right.

Minutes later, Ms Bollie, who was also Augie’s homeroom teacher, handed out report cards and dismissed the class for good, wishing everyone a productive summer.

In a slightly rundown neighborhood, a school bus pulled up and let Augie out. He walked to the rectangular, two and a half story brick and wood house near the center of the block. This had been his home for the better part of a year.

From the time Augie was a baby, he and his parents had lived in the heart of New York City in a rent-stabilized apartment on West 16th Street. But gradually, it became way too costly. His father, Siegfried, a carpet salesman at Dream Weaver Carpets, was able to transfer from the company’s headquarters in the Flatiron District, to a branch outlet near Port Morris, New Jersey. Soon after, his mother, Brunhilde got a security guard job at the Walmart in Morristown. .

Augie wasn’t happy about the move. He had to give up an exciting city of endless possibilities. He had to leave the Bleecker Street School and friends he had known several years. What he got in exchange was a bland suburb and a school where he wasn’t accepted, where he was constantly picked on and annoyed by Ira Dupre.

Big, athletic and arrogant, Ira was a kingpin at the school. Out of admiration, fear or both, he was looked up to and held in awe by everyone in the 7th grade, except Augie. Maybe that was why Ira ridiculed and singled him out as a loner and loser since the very first day. Ira was used to getting his way. He came from a wealthy family, whose father had disappeared over some white-collar investment investigation. No one ever mentioned the word, ‘criminal,’ though the thought had crossed Augie’s mind. According to Ira, everything was fine with his dad, who was living in some European country, and would be home soon, once the truth came out and he was totally, completely cleared. In the meantime, Ira and his mother were not wanting. He wore the latest, coolest designer clothes, and his mother motored around Port Morris in a brand new Mercedes-Benz. Plus, they lived in what you might call a mansion, in the best, most exclusive section of town.

Using his key, Augie unlocked the front door and pushed it open. He walked from the front hallway to the back, bypassing the living room and dining area. Though they had been living here less than a year, the house, to Augie, had an old feel, like it had been around since the dim beginnings of time.

He went into the kitchen, tossed his backpack on a chair and opened the fridge. With an icepack from the freezer held against the bump on his head, he scanned the racks. Moving past a jar of pickled herring, a couple bottles of Scandinavian beer, a quart container of lingonberry juice, a wedge of yellow cheese and a Swedish meatball-like casserole, he snagged a slice of leftover pizza. Waiting for the slice to heat up in the microwave, he could hear movement on the second floor, followed by creaking and footsteps descending the stairs. He returned the icepack to the freezer.

He sat at the kitchen table, blowing on his nuked pizza, when his mother entered.

Hi, honey. How was school?

Augie shrugged, hunched over, looking a little defeated as he bit into the slice.

Offering a sympathetic look, she went to the refrigerator, pulled out the lingonberry juice and poured herself a cup. She was a big, round woman, some would say big-boned, but it was more than the bones. Her hair was blonde, her complexion pale, almost ghostly light, tinged, especially on her robust cheeks with a soft rosiness, not unlike a pretty Mrs. Santa Claus. She was wearing a security guard uniform, complete with shoulder patches and a nametag that said, Brunhilde. The uniform, covering her ample bosom, her thick, meaty arms and solid thighs, had a few spots where perspiration was seeping through.

I’m only here a minute. On back-to-back shifts cause someone called in sick. But I’m off Saturday. Augie focused on his rapidly disappearing pizza, barely listening.

She finished the juice and looked at her wristwatch. If I leave now, I can catch the next bus. Give me a kiss.

Augie looked up to see her leaning over him, offering a cheek, which he pecked. Mom, you’ve got something. He stared at her chin, pointing. There.

Brunhilde wet a napkin and wiped her face.

You got it,

Thanks. I’ll be home late. Don’t forget your homework.

"There isn’t any. School’s over. Ended today.

She looked surprised. Already? How were the grades?

Passable.

That’s what we like to hear. Exiting the kitchen, she headed for the front door.

He called after. "Are we still going to the city?

Talk to your father. And then she was gone.

Over the next few hours, when he wasn’t watching cartoons or playing an end-of-the-world video game, he went to the mirror, studied his features, and practiced a couple dance moves. He was pleased that the bump from Ira was covered by hair and not noticeable. Still, he could feel it. At one point, stretched out on the living room couch, he closed his eyes and thought, When I open them, I won’t be here. Everything will be different. But, of course, it wasn’t.

On his phone, there was a text message from Christopher, his old friend from Bleecker Street, his best friend really, even though they hadn’t been in touch that much since Augie moved. Chris wanted to know if they were meeting up in the city tomorrow. Augie wanted to know, too. It depended on his father.

A little after six, Siegfried arrived home, pulling the family’s only car, an old, blue Nissan Altima, into the driveway. From the living room window, Augie watched his father—a tall man with brownish gray-hair, broad-shoulders, long arms and thick wrists—contort his head and body to exit. Briefcase in hand, he marched to the front door. For all his height, he appeared vulnerable, slightly hunched over as if apologizing for his length; or perhaps it reflected a loss of confidence, a resigned sense of not only having been roughed up by the world, but defeated.

Setting the briefcase on the living room coffee table, he acknowledged Augie, removed his sport coat, draped it over a chair and loosened his tie.

Where’s your mother?

Working.

He looked annoyed. She could have told me.

He sat down in an easy chair, kicking off his shoes and fiddling with his cell phone. Oh. She sent a text.

You should check your phone more. Sometimes I call, you don’t pick up, and then you yell at me for not calling.

His father stared, uncomfortable with his son instructing and chastising him. But then, he let it go. You’re right. I’m not very good with technological things. Siegfried got up, grabbing his sport coat. I’m gonna change. Try to find us something to eat.

Augie wanted to ask about going to the city, but felt it best to wait. His father was already climbing the creaky stairs to the second floor.

There were veggie burger patties and a bag of French fries in the freezer. Augie defrosted them in the microwave. Once his father had changed into comfortable clothes, he seemed in a better mood. He did the cooking and the food didn’t taste half-bad. They sat in the kitchen, eating in silence. Near the end of the meal, Augie dipped his last fry in ketchup and asked, Are we still going?

Going? His father looked confused. He must have been thinking of something else, someplace else, far away.

To the city. Tomorrow. That was the plan.

Siegfried’s eyes widened. That’s right. He got up, left the room and came back with his cell phone, punching keys.

Your mother has off, right? She put in for that weeks ago. I’m calling the Bensons.

Augie sat listening, praying, fingers crossed.

Brad, it’s Siegfried. Don’t give me Siegfried, who. Hey, what about— He paused. That’s why I’m calling. We agreed to touch base Friday. It’s Friday. Tomorrow’s Saturday. I know all the days of the week. You don’t know who you’re dealing with, Brad. Foolishness aside, we’d love to see you and Marge. We miss you two and the city, the city more, but it’s close. His father listened, letting out an occasional I know, I know. Then there was a more extended silence accompanied by a little head nodding, followed by a simple, Okay.

Augie’s heart raced, hopeful.

Around noon. We can go have brunch. But only if you’re buying. Siegfried let out a hearty laugh that Augie hadn’t seen for a while. See you then, said Siegfried, closing the phone. He looked at his son with a slight smile and a glimmer of warmth in his eyes.

Augie liked his father this way. The worn out, workaday warrior was renewed, rejuvenated by the prospect of reconnecting with old friends and the city that always seemed to hold great promises and dreams.

Can I meet up with my friends?

Don’t see why not.

Augie pulled out his cell and started texting Christopher.

"You miss them?

Augie nodded.

This place isn’t so bad, is it? By his tone, he seemed to know the answer.

Augie looked at his father. I just don’t fit in.

Siegfried averted his eyes and stared out the kitchen window.

CHAPTER 2 – FRIENDS, REFLECTIONS AND SIGNS

The next day, Augie and his parents headed for the city. With each passing mile, as they got closer, their energies and attitudes buoyed. Siegfried and Brunhilde reminisced about their first New York City apartment; how she’d meet Siegfried near the Dream Weaver Carpets headquarters for shared lunches in Madison Park. This was before Augie was even born. As a baby and a toddler, they strolled him all over Manhattan. His parents loved to walk and explore. To Augie, the city was exhilarating in a candy bar, sugar rush kind of way that made him feel anything was possible. He hadn’t seen Christopher, Sage and Linsey for months, the last time being a Saturday trip just like this. They were good friends; the best, meaning more to him than anybody aside from his parents. Though apart, they stayed in touch, thanks to phones and social media, not great substitutes for being face-to-face, breathing the same air.

The car pulled up to the Brooklyn Bagel Café. Augie got out and looked inside, feeling apprehension. He was relieved to spot tall, gangly Christopher with a tray of food and drinks, moving toward an empty table, making a silly face at him. He also discerned Sage and Linsey, still by the deli counter, waiting for their orders. Augie gave his parents the ‘go ahead’ signal.

His mother lowered her window. Four o’clock. Right here. Keep your phone on. Have fun.

Augie nodded, wanting them to leave. The car pulled away with Siegfried and Brunhilde waving. Augie looked around, a little embarrassed, hoping Christopher or anyone, for that matter, hadn’t seen their good-bye. He went inside.

AUGIE! Chris yelled, way too loud, causing customers to look up from their food, books and computers. They gave each other exuberant high fives before sitting down. What’s up?

I don’t know. What’s up with you?

Christopher pulled out an iPod Nano with a picture of four Gothed-out looking dudes on the display standing beneath the words, Pagan Metal. This.

As Augie picked up the iPod, a hand from behind snatched it. He turned to face Sage.

All right, Rhone, she said with mock-seriousness. This is a family-oriented establishment. Deviant, devil music is strictly forbidden. I have to confiscate this.

And listen to it later, chimed in Linsey who was at Sage’s side, carrying a tray of food.

As the girls sat down, Christopher held up the iPod image for all to see. That’s my cousin, Fletcher. Right there, he pointed. He’s the lead singer for the band. This is their new album.

Why the name Pagan Metal? asked Augie.

How should I know?

Linsey stared at the photo. Fletcher’s cute.

Sage rolled her eyes. If you’re into tight leather jeans.

Which you know I am.

Sage took another look. His hair is spikier than I remember.

Christopher looked puzzled. But, you never met him.

Yeah, I did. Your birthday party. Two years ago.

Chris squinted his eyes. Maybe you did. You remember that?

She’s like an elephant, interjected Linsey.

Sage looked offended. Excuse me? She shook her long, straight, jet black hair while indicating her slim, shapely figure. I don’t think this looks like an elephant. Her eyes moved to Augie.

I’m not saying nothin, he replied, not wanting to get on Sage’s bad side.

She scrutinized him coldly. Sometimes saying nothing is worse than saying something.

Well, said Augie, you look nothing like an elephant.

Sage half smiled, turning her intense dark eyes on Linsey, making the pretty blonde immediately defensive. I didn’t mean you looked like an elephant. Elephants have really good memories. Augie, Chris, help me out, here!

The dagger-like sharpness in Sage’s eyes gave way to merriment. She burst into laughter. Got you!

Linsey smiled with relief. I thought you were really upset.

No, said Christopher. She’s just being Sage.

I should get some food, said Augie, rising. But Sage pulled him back down.

Stay! I can’t eat all this. Despite being an elephant. We’ll share.

Okay. Thanks.

They opened drinks, unwrapped bagels and started to eat. Eyeing the iPod, Augie wiped his mouth. So, is Pagan Metal any good?

Christopher pulled out headphones and connected them. You decide.

Augie gave a listen. Immediately, his head started moving rhythmically. Sage borrowed an earplug. She nodded to Linsey and Chris. Pretty good.

Augie gave up the other plug to Linsey, letting both girls get lost in the music.

I know he’s my cousin and all, said Chris, but don’t you think they’re great?

Augie took a bite of bagel, nodding as he chewed.

"This one track, Creatures of Habit. Awesome. Epic. Fletcher’s voice has this mad, creepy quality. Have to hand it to him."

Bouncing, Sage gave Chris a look of approval. They rock! She picked up the iPod. Can I have this?

What about me? Linsey protested.

I brought it for Augie. A sudden look of sadness came over Christopher. I hardly ever see the dude anymore.

Sage removed her earplug, giving Linsey, who was still rocking, a glare.

Linsey stopped and pushed the iPod to Augie. Too bad you had to move away.

After eating, they took a walk around Chelsea, browsing in a clothing store, hanging out at the piers on the Hudson, taking in the big boats docked there and the many joggers, bikers and skaters passing by. They found an empty bench and sat. With the sky clear and the sun out, warming rays played on the water, twinkling like stars.

So, now that school’s out, what are you doing? asked Chris.

Not much. It would be nice having a summer job. But where am I going to find that?

My parents are shipping me off to my Aunt Helen, Fletcher’s mom. She has a farm in Saratoga.

Where’s that? asked Sage.

Upstate. At least a few hours drive. More manure there than a fertilizer factory.

Yuk! responded Linsey. "I’m leaving next week for summer camp, out on Long Island.

Sage looked annoyed. It’s not just you. I’ll be there, too. Remember?

That’s right! To make up for the slight, she put her arm around Sage. Camp Tanglewood BFFs forever! Linsey gave a blazing smile, holding it as if waiting for a photoflash. Sage playfully pushed her away.

That’s an expensive camp, said Christopher.

Linsey looked startled. Is it?

Rich kids go there.

Are you accusing me of being rich?

Your family has money. They own a successful restaurant.

You make that sound like a bad thing. What about Sage? She’s going, too.

I got some kind of scholarship.

You would, said Linsey with just a touch of contempt.

Augie looked up at the blue sky. I just wish we could all be together.

Sage, Linsey and Christopher concurred with their eyes.

Hey, we still have some days, said Sage, before Chris, Linsey and I ship off. Let’s meet up Thursday in Central Park."

I can probably do that, said Chris.

Let me check my schedule, said Linsey, scrolling through her smart phone. I’m in."

Sage looked at Augie, So? Can you do it?

I’ve got nothing else going on.

The time went by too fast. They all agreed to meet the following Thursday at noon on the northeast corner of Columbus Circle. Before he knew it, Augie was back outside the Brooklyn Bagel Café hugging Sage and Linsey, bumping knuckles with Christopher and climbing into his parent’s car.

When they entered the Holland Tunnel, Augie felt like he was being sucked inside the tube of a giant vacuum cleaner, removed from friends, happiness and belonging. All that was left were his parents, commanding the front seat, gazing blankly and bleakly, he suspected, at a road going nowhere.

The highway they moved along was one band of an elaborate concrete configuration stretching in different directions. It wound and looped over water and past landfill, rusting storage containers and factories emitting chemical smells and smoke. To the sides, billboards came and went, touting healthcare services, car insurance, or Atlantic City gambling. Maybe a satellite photo from outer space could bring the purpose of it all into perspective. But from Augie’s view, the ribbon of highway seemed random and chaotic.

Augie was not a religious kid. His parents had been vague and evasive on that subject. It wasn’t that they denied the existence of a higher power or powers, more like they had been burned by it and were wary of being hurt, betrayed and ridiculed again. Whatever their real beliefs, they held them close. Augie didn’t know if there was something beyond human-based reality, a divine Source of sorts, but he was willing to give it a shot. Closing his eyes, folding his hands, he prayed. He asked whoever or whatever was out there in the cosmos to better his situation, to bring about a miracle because, as Augie saw it, that was probably what it would take.

He opened his eyes. Nothing had changed.

Minutes later, gray clouds filled the sky, hiding the sun. Everything became darker, full of forboding. The gathering external gloom made Augie feel victimized and hopeless. I’m doomed to attend a school, to live in a place where I have no friends. Is this some sort of Rhone family curse? That last thought seemed to come from somewhere, not just his subconscious mind.

He didn’t know a lot about his parents’ past. Just that they grew up in Minnesota, a small town outside of Minneapolis. They were childhood, high school sweethearts, both athletic and involved in school sports. Hardly intellectual, especially in a New York City sense, they were simple people. His father had gone to a tech school at some point, and his mom attended college, but they both dropped out. They got more and more into the arts, well, maybe it was more like arts and crafts. His mother liked to draw and knit and his father was fond of cutting out pictures from magazines and newspapers and making collages. Eventually, some crazy bug bit them, and they moved to New York to try and make it as actors. That didn’t go well. His mom wound up waitressing and eventually Siegfried found a job with Dreamweaver Carpets. Despite their lack of sophistication, they loved the city. It’s the energy, his mother was always saying. More invigorating than a Minnesota winter. Simple folks, his parents. Sometimes to the point of being simpletons. But at their core, they were good people. There was one point in their New York City life when they took part in some Green Peace marches and anti-war protests. For them, it wasn’t political, just a matter of saving nature and stopping humans from killing each other. No more complicated than that. But, even there, they didn’t seem really committed. To Augie, they were passionate when it suited them, letting other aspects of existence, things like paying bills, get in the way. They must have been in their late 30’s when they got around to having him.

The clouds gathered and merged into one dark, colossal mass. It started raining, sporadic big drops that suddenly became a deluge. It was like someone on the roof had overturned a never-ending barrel of water on the front of the car. The frantic wipers barely kept the windshield clear. Siegfried slowed the vehicle, steering tensely, hitting the defroster as he strained to see past the fogging glass.

The world outside the car rapidly became a gray, soaked mess. To the left, there was a shimmering burst of light. Seconds later, loud thunder crackled.

Siegfried and Brunhilde glanced repeatedly from the road to each other, back and forth like the wipers, fueling each other’s uneasiness. From a reflection in his window, Augie saw that he looked worried, too.

Sitting as much in the middle of the back seat as his seatbelt allowed, he strained to see ahead. Suddenly, a flash illuminated the entire road and interior of the car. His mother screamed, grabbing Siegfried’s arm. He shook her loose, keeping control of the car. What happened next was unbelievable, like some weird hallucination. As thunder erupted, lightning in the shape of a giant, fiercesome fist came down and smashed the road. It happened fast, with an explosion of brilliant light that vanished upon impact. A hundred yards ahead, flames shot up from a big, jagged hole in the road surface, only to be doused by the rain, creating a